


A New Day

by ChaiAndChill



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, Elements of DD/lg, F/M, Fluff, I APOLOGIZE, I'm Horrible at Summaries and Tagging, Size Difference, Smut, Sugar Daddy Bruce, Vaginal Sex, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 04:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaiAndChill/pseuds/ChaiAndChill
Summary: Life as Bruce Wayne's sugar baby seems great... until you grow too attached. He's not the most punctual, often times not even showing up, and can go days without contacting you. It's lonely and frustrating but every so often he comes through with something that causes your heart to flutter in that telltale way. A long night spurs a conversation that could change your relationship entirely.





	A New Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecurlycaptain@tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thecurlycaptain%40tumblr).



> I don't own the DCU or Batman... if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction (or would I?)
> 
> This is my first DCU fic and a belated birthday gift for my dear friend. It's pretty far out of my comfort zone, I do NOT do fluff but I hope I can do this justice and I hope you enjoy it!!! <3

     Rain patters softly against the floor to ceiling windows of your flat, the glow of late night Gotham and your TV the only things illuminating the expansive main room. The presence of half eaten containers of Chinese takeout sitting on the polished marble coffee table are in almost garish contrast to your lavish surroundings. Surroundings that, if not for your current arrangement with Bruce Wayne, you could never hope to dream of affording. 

     You eye the unopened cartons of beef broccoli and brown rice before checking the time on your phone. If you don’t put the food up soon, it’ll go bad. You sigh from beneath your nest of blankets on the sofa.

     Bruce hasn’t texted you since he’d sent his first message promising a relaxing night in complete with takeout and Netflix. No primping, no parties, no paparazzi; it sounded like a slice of heaven. That had been at 6. It is now almost 3 in the morning.

     It seems like you’ve been stood up.  _ Again _ .

     You try, unsuccessfully, to swallow down your disappointment and begin packing up your leftovers and putting them away, slamming the refrigerator door perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

     You draw out the process, hoping with every millisecond that passes by that Bruce will walk through the door, exhausted but at least  _ present _ .

     He doesn’t.

     You trudge into your bedroom, swathed in the blankets from the couch and feeling a bit silly to have spent the entire evening waiting to surprise Bruce in the (expensive) scraps of ribbons and lace you’d bought with his card. Your first ever lingerie purchase. 

     Foolish.

     You shake your head, a frown marring your face as you snuggle into your plush, pillowy mattress. 

_      It feels so big without him. _

**_Foolish._ **

     You aren’t his girlfriend, you internally scold yourself, tossing onto your other side. You kick your legs out petulantly, the sensation of the silky smooth cotton against your calves a small comfort amidst your internal chaos. 

     Your growing attachment to the CEO of Wayne Enterprises is going to be problematic for the both of you. Afterall, he just wants a pretty face to parade around and occasionally fuck senseless and you just want to get through school without being crushed by mountains of student debt. 

     It’s like a business arrangement, you lie to yourself, trying to block out all the instances in which you’d felt yourself falling for the billionaire you’d somehow managed to seduce.

     You try not to think of his smiles: the bright, fake grins he uses to charm the public and those smaller, genuine quirks of his lips that soften the edges of his face and warm the glacial blue of his eyes. You try not to think about how those smiles turn your brain to mush and how you’d do  _ anything  _ to see more of them.

     You try to not think of the passionate way he talks about the orphanages he funds, the tender way he talks about the children there as if they are his own. How he makes time to visit them despite his crazy schedule. 

     It had felt like he was taking you to meet his family the first time he brought you along with him and you’d felt yourself sink a little deeper as the reassuring warmth of his hand in yours settled the butterflies in your stomach when he introduced you to each child. 

     You curse those little moments that he allows you to see beneath the veneer of Bruce Wayne: billionaire playboy and peer into something sweeter and sadder, yet infinitely more worthwhile.

     “Foolish,” you chide yourself, as if saying it aloud will somehow change the way your heart aches for a man almost old enough to be your father.

     It is with that thought that you fall into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

     The sudden dip of the bed and a heavily muscled arm wrapping around your waist startles you awake. You thrash against the unexpected touch before a weary baritone rasps in your ear.

     “Shh, shh, I’m here. It’s me.”

     “Bruce?” you whisper, turning to look at him.

     The dark navy of the night sky is beginning to give way to the pinky reds of dawn and with the twinkling lights of Gotham, your vision of him is bathed in a kaleidoscope of color. 

     He has more bruises decorating his body, you note, although his beautiful face remains unharmed. You tell yourself one day you’ll gather the courage to ask about the late nights and the battered shape he returns to you in. However, right now is not the time.

     “I’m sorry I’m late... I got tied up,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

     “It’s...fine,” you lie before moving to sit up, “I got you your beef and broccoli, it’s in the fridge.”   
     Bruce’s massive palms settle over your shoulders and he softly urges you back against your pillows to lay down.   
     “It’s okay, I can eat it later, let’s just go to sleep,” he murmurs, curling around your body and draping a heavy arm and leg over you.

     Your heart flutters at his tender touch and the overwhelming feeling of safety and  _ rightness  _ as he envelops you. You feel so dainty and delicate next to the 6 plus foot mountain of muscle behind you but for some reason, you have never felt weak or threatened in Bruce’s company. His touch has never been too rough or painful… unless you ask him nicely.

     That thought sends a tingling heat through you and suddenly you are  _ far  _ from tired. You rub your thighs together futilely, trying not to stir the raven haired Adonis behind you.

     “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Bruce whispers in your ear, pulling you more snugly against him and  _ not at all _ helping with your current issue, “I took all of today and tomorrow off for you.”

     You shrug his arm off of you, rolling over to face him with an impish smile.

     “How about you make it up to me right now?” you ask coquettishly.

     Bruce blinks blearily at you and you can see his protestations beginning to form. You sit up in bed, letting the blankets pool around your hips and expose the sheer lace of your lingerie, a silken strap falling from your shoulder prettily. You blink demurely, a pout on your lips as you use your secret weapon against the business tycoon. 

     “ _ Please, Daddy? _ ” you implore breathily.

     You can see the tiredness almost instantly fade from his eyes as his pupils expand and nearly swallow the cerulean of his irises. He swallows thickly and you watch the bob of his adam’s apple.

     He’s on you in an instant. His mouth presses softly against yours, his large, calloused hands settling over your hips as he uses his weight to slowly ease you down beneath him. 

     “Please don’t be gentle with me,” you beg when he trails kisses down the column of your throat.

     “You want me to be rough with you, little girl?” he growls against your neck, nipping at it lightly and turning your insides to molten fire with his touch.

     “ _ Yes, Daddy, _ ” you breathe, eager for him to take you savagely in the early light of dawn.

     Bruce’s hands slide up the length of your torso, gripping the center of your negligee and ripping it straight down the middle. At your squeak of protest, he chuckles darkly.

     “I love you in lingerie but I love ruining it more,” he murmurs and you try to ignore the way your heart soars when he says ‘I love you’, no matter the context.

     You aren’t able to think about it for long as Bruce grabs a fistful of your hair, jerking your head to the side to suck a dark mark into the juncture between your shoulder and neck. His free hand slides underneath you, gripping and kneading the flesh of your ass. 

     A sharp gasp falls from your lips as Bruce drags his teeth down your chest, skimming past your nipple to nip at the dip before your hip bone. He roughly grabs your thighs and drapes them over his impossibly broad shoulders, lifting your lower half from the mattress. The sloppy kisses he presses over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs soon turn to a series of bites that are sure to flower into light bruises.

     Bruce licks a broad stripe over the crotch of your soaked through panties, the feeling of his tongue through the thin layer of lace makes your toes curl and you try fruitlessly to fight his near bruising grip on your hips to rut against his face.

     He chuckles at you, nuzzling your clothed cunt before pressing a kiss over the lace your engorged clit. You whine pitifully at him, running your fingers through his thick raven hair.

     “You want something, princess?” he husks lowly.

     “Please, please, please,  _ please _ ,” you keen, arching your back as if that will somehow help you get closer to those pretty pink lips of his.

     “I can’t deny you anything. I really do spoil you too much,” he says more to himself than you, and the haze of your need prevents you from noticing the fond way he looks up at you from between your thighs.

     He shoves your panties to the side, burying his face in the juncture between your legs. He alternates between sucking the lips of your pussy and delicately tonguing your clit, winding you tighter and tighter until every muscle in your body trembles with the need to cum. 

     It isn’t enough.

     Your vision goes white when Bruce sucks ravenously at your nub, pushing you that tiny bit over the edge and into the kind of orgasm that only  _ he  _ has been able to coax from you. He eases you through your climax before just as quickly coaxing a second and third from you, using his thick fingers to open you up and stimulate that special spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

     It isn’t until you’re shaking from overstimulation that he pulls away, lining his hips up against yours. He rubs his considerable length between the lips of your cunt, coating himself in your juices, and the hot, firm pressure causes you to jerk reflexively. 

     “Open your eyes, princess,” he rasps, and you oblige, not having realized you’d closed them.

     Bruce presses his forehead against yours, demanding you look at him as he presses inside you finally. He gives your fluttering walls a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting with enough force to steal the breath from your lungs. 

     The pace he sets is deep and rough, wringing just as much pleasure from you as he’s receiving. His gaze is intense and you find yourself bewitched by his eyes and the tenderness of his visage in stark contrast to the near violent rutting of his hips against yours. 

     Before long, you feel the telltale pulsing of his cock inside you. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around him, pressing your lips against his and working his mouth open with your tongue. Bruce moans into the kiss, quickly losing his rhythm. You pull away to press your cheek against his.

     “Cum inside me, please. Please, cum. Cum for me Bruce,” you chant softly in his ear.

     “Say it again, say my name,” he grits out, his arms trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you in the face of his orgasm. 

     “ _ Bruce, _ ” you mewl desperately.

     The older man cums with a groan that thunders through his entire body and the warmth of his seed spills into you. He rolls to the side of you to avoid falling on top of you before gathering you up in his arms and kissing your forehead affectionately.

     You’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the afterglow. 

     “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Bruce breaks the silence, running a large palm from your shoulder down to you hip, “We should talk.”

     You instinctively tense up. ‘We should talk’ is never a good sign.

     “I… I’ve been wanting to- well, to share more of myself, more of who I am with you,” he fumbles uncharacteristically with his words.

     “Okay…?” you respond, not entirely sure of where the conversation is going.

     “And I can’t- I can’t do that with things the way they are between us,” he continues, looking away from you briefly.

     “What needs to change?” you ask, trying desperately to tamp down on the fledgling hope that burrows itself in your chest.

     Bruce lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair before fixing you with a searching look.

     “I just want to know how you feel. About me,” he clarifies somewhat.

     You feel blood rush to your face and you avert your eyes in a moment of bashfulness. This time, it is your turn to fumble with your words.

     “I- uh really like you, Bruce.”

     He looks unconvinced so you continue.

     “I-I like your smile and how my hand fits in yours,” your eyes dart around the room, looking for  _ anything  _ to look at to ground you enough to make the most awkward, heartfelt confession of your life.

     Your gaze settles on the sharp, masculine curvature of Bruce’s chin. There’s a slight stubble and you feel the urge to rub your cheek against it and press kisses against his jawline.

     “I lo-  _ like _ your compassion and how you’ve never made me feel inferior to you despite the disparity between our social statuses. I like the way you’re so involved with the orphanages, how you love those children,” you admit, your voice gaining volume as you gain confidence.

     Your eyes shift their focus, travelling up from Bruce’s defined chin, passed his aquiline nose, and settle on meeting those baby blues that give you those problematic heart palpitations. He leans into your touch as you lift a hand to caress his cheek, never dropping eye contact.

     “I-I love the deep sadness you try to hide and it makes me want to comfort you and make you smile. I would love to make you happy,” you finish, not realizing you’d said ‘love’ until after you’d said it. 

     You’re not given enough time to properly internally kick yourself for revealing too much as Bruce presses a hard, passionate kiss to your lips.

     “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asks you, cradling your head between his massive hands, nose to nose with you. 

     He then barks out a self-deprecating chuckle, throwing a hand over his eyes in an attempt to distract you from the subtle pink tinge seeping into his cheeks.

     “I sound like a damn teenager,” he gripes, still covering his face in embarrassment.

     You reach up and pull his hand down, the darkening hue of his cheeks making the incredible warmth in your chest blossom into something that makes you feel as though you’re glowing and all the world has shrunk down to just the two of you in this singular, shining moment.

     “I-I would like that, very much, Bruce,” you whisper, cherishing the reverent way he looks at you.

     He kisses you languidly then, no urgency or raw lust behind the molding of his lips against yours, just the sharing of mutual adoration and affection. You’re not sure how long you lay like that, kissing slowly in the light of early morning before you pull away to lighten the suddenly too intense feeling of  _ -love-  _ for Bruce that settles into your heart.

     “So, uh, when are you going to introduce me to the rest of your Rich Man’s Fight Club?” you tease, eyes glittering mischievously.

     “Fight Club?” Bruce blinks at you incredulously.

     “Yeah, that’s the only excuse I can think of for all of that,” you gesture at his bruised torso, “Unless you’re secretly Batman.”

     You laugh at your jest, not catching the brief, calculating look in Bruce’s eyes.

     “Oh, you have  _ no  _ idea,” he flashes a warm genuine smile at you before bursting into light hearted laughter.

     The sound is deep and rich and melodic and you find yourself wishing this moment could last forever.


End file.
